Tomorrow is my 30th birthday and I’m going to go to a friend’s wedding shower and pick up a balloon bouquet I got for myself and flowers that my girlfriend sent me and have dinner with my family incl. all my in-town nephews and I’m going to tie a balloon to the youngest one and watch him run around trying to charm the cats. (I forget if I mentioned, this week my sister in law sent us a video where she asks him, “Where do you want to go?” and he says “GAW-LA-GER. GRAMMA. KITTY!”)
When i was a little kid I used to dream of being in my 30s. I always wanted to grow up. Being an adult was when you got to choose where you lived, what you ate, who you spent time with, what you got to do. Even when I was eight, I dreamed so hard of being settled in my career with a spouse and family, able to right some of the wrongs I saw in the world and make art that mattered.
Getting here has been so hard–and between mental illness and the economy, I’m not nearly as settled, married, or fecund as I’d like to be–but you know the fuck what, I’m happy to be here anyway.